


The Cure

by PR Zed (przed)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-03
Updated: 2010-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-18 20:29:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/przed/pseuds/PR%20Zed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodie knows what Doyle needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cure

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://draycevixen.livejournal.com/profile)[**draycevixen**](http://draycevixen.livejournal.com/) for a [](http://help-haiti.livejournal.com/profile)[**help_haiti**](http://help-haiti.livejournal.com/) auction. Drayce supplied a single word prompt: immune.

"Don't."

"Don't what?" Bloody Bodie, never knows when to quit.

"Just. Don't."

"I've no idea what you're going on about, Raymond." He knows I hate it when he comes on all posh.

"It's not going to work."

"What isn't?"

"Flaunting yourself like that. You're not getting around me that easily. " I cross my arms and resist the urge to smash in his handsome face. "I'm immune."

"Not possible." He looks more determined. "There's no cure for me." He undoes another button. "Not where you're concerned."

He straddles me and leans forward, his lips lightly brushing mine. When I feel his breath, taste his mouth, hear the rasp of his beard against mine, the anger I've been nursing all day dissolves.

I open my mouth, surrender to him. I try to concentrate only on the moment: on the feel of his fingers wound through my hair; on the way my hand grasps his shirt; on the sound of his breath, as harsh as my own. I try, but it doesn't work. I pull away from him as the horror of the day bleeds once again into my present.

"It wasn't my fault, Raymond." He touches my cheek, the broken one, more gently than I thought possible.

"I know."

"Wasn't yours either."

"I know." I don't, really, but I try to believe it. For Bodie's sake, if not my own.

"You did what you could."

"Sometimes it's not enough."

"And sometimes it is." He kisses me again. Hard. "Now are you coming to bed or do I have to carry you?"

I come. I fall into bed beside him, let him hold me, let him try to burn away what I saw today. What I did.

And it works. Mostly.

Because in the end, Bodie isn't my disease. He's my cure.  



End file.
